


None of His Business

by Snailicorn



Series: The Most Important Things [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), DCU (Comics), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth (mentioned), Angst, Batdad, Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick is 15, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason is 13, Jealousy, London, No pairings - Freeform, Protective Bruce Wayne, Questionable Parenting Skills, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Supernatural Elements, and nothing like the shite keanu reeves movie, being a batdad to teenagers is hard guys hes trying his best, character comparisons, have another tag, just know he's terrible and the best, supernatural bullshit happens but nothing terribly out of place for these canons tbh, you don't have to be familiar with hellblazer or constantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 04:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12646299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailicorn/pseuds/Snailicorn
Summary: To the unfamiliar eye, it must look like Bruce has a spoiled pair of bratty fraternal twins.Dick and Bruce are still on the outs, the former having recently taken up the "Nightwing" mantle and the latter having made Jason his new Robin. Things are... not great between the three of them, and especially bad between Dick and Bruce. Too bad they're all going to be stuck together on a week-long, "preplanned" trip to London.But, what's this about children disappearing, near a giant monolith that's "always" been there? Why hasn't anyone heard about this on the outside?They aren't the only ones investigating.Just before the elevator doors close, Bruce spots a glimmer of concern in the hotel receptionist's eyes. "Just make sure you keep an eye on your boys, Mr. Wayne! Don't want 'em to wander off!"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my new rescue-kitty, [Johnny](https://imgur.com/a/0XGhT), named after the Hellblazer, the Property Brother, two of the Joestars, and also that guy who beat the devil in the fiddle contest that one time.
> 
> You do NOT have to be familiar with John Constantine/Hellblazer to understand this. Just know that Constantine is a complicated guy who happens to do some magic and also a lot of other stuff he probably shouldn't do. He means well. Most of the time.
> 
> (Also, first chapter is a bit too tell-rather-than-show, but I couldn't figure out a way to get the set-up straightened out otherwise. It gets better, I promise!)

_This is all because of this "Nightwing" nonsense,_ Bruce thinks as he sits, cramped even though it's first class, between two surly teenage boys. He's always gotten along so well with Dick-- they rarely even need to talk when on a case because each can predict the other so accurately. Almost as soon as "Robin" was created, he and Batman were in sync. They were an unbreakable pair, a force to be reckoned with.

 

But, well, they aren't a pair anymore.

 

Dick, has decided to rebell in a spectacular way. He's run off to stay with his team (even on school nights, to Alfred's horror), calling himself "Nightwing" after some character in a fairy tale Clark told him or something. It's ridiculous, Bruce grumbles internally. He's 15; he can't just move out and live on his own, taking a new name like he's not the boy who's been following at Bruce's heels for years. The only thing that gives Bruce more of a headache to think about is that this next week is going to be so, so much worse.

 

"Dickhead," a voice grumbles.

 

"I hate you," another shoots back.

 

Bruce wordlessly shoves their flailing arms back at themselves as they devolve into another close-quarters fist fight. He's got each hand wrapped around a pair of small wrists, his arms extended to force the boys' own limbs against their chests. He has a feeling he's going to spend the whole flight like this, and his arms are already cramping.

 

It doesn't help that the boys are close in age. Dick hadn't been quite 10 when he'd become Robin, but Jason has taken up the mantle at a bit older. At just 13, Jason is nearly as tall as Dick and Bruce can tell that he's going to grow into a muscular build, where Dick is on track to retain the lithe, comparitively small body of an acrobat even after puberty. It is simply a fact of genetics, but it can only emphasize the obvious friction between the boys. There are few easiers way to provoke a typical teenage boy than to insult his masculinity, Bruce remembers, and just standing near Jason and Bruce clearly agitates Dick. They've been hissing at each other since Alfred dragged them all out of bed and hauled them to the airport. 

 

To the unfamiliar eye, it must look like Bruce has a spoiled pair of bratty fraternal twins. 

 

The area of conflict, Bruce must admit as he looks to the now fake-sleeping boy on his left, is not soley Dick's actions. He's upset with Bruce. Jason is just an easy target, a symbol of unfamiliarity and change, who is easier to attack than Bruce. And Jason _engages_ , like no one else could. He's a firecracker, for better or for worse, and he's get more than enough pent up frustration of his own to explode. In hindsight, taking Jason in and making him Robin at the height of his feud with Dick was not the greatest exercise in time-appropriateness. He understands that Dick feels he's being replaced, but Bruce certainly would have brought Jason home even if they _were_ on speaking terms. Definitely.

 

...Probably.

 

In any case, Bruce can see no reason why Dick can't just come home, let Jason wear one of his old costumes (he's grown so much recently, and Bruce isn't sure how to feel about that), and be a mentor to the younger boy. Jason is only 13, yet he nearly got away with the Batmobile's tires. The _Batmobile_. Can't Dick see his potential? But as emotionally surpressed as he may be, Bruce knows on some level that Jason is not the problem-- Bruce is. Jason has done nothing but exist, an abused child who will doubtless become either great or terrible, depending on which of his "fathers" he chooses to learn from. He's smart, in a different way than Dick or Bruce, and he knows it. At such a young age, he's already seen and experienced and done things that make Bruce's heart ache. After all, Bruce and Dick lost good, loving parents; Jason never had any to begin with, not really. Even if Jason eventually chooses to reject Bruce like Dick has, at least Bruce will know that the boy had food and shelter for a time.

 

Where Jason has not-so-occasional outbursts, especially now that he's finally settling into the mansion and his new life, Dick's anger is cold and aloof. He takes after Bruce in this way, but two can play that game. Bruce gives as good as he gets, and doesn't speak to Dick unless he has to. _If he wants to be treated like an adult,_ Bruce thinks, _then he needs to start acting like one._ Jason has very little to do with this, in reality; he's just a scapegoat for Bruce, the true target of Dick's anger. This next week, which Bruce will undoubtedly spend shielding Jason from Dick's cold shoulder and firing back his own non-acknowledgement, will be a struggle to get through. 

 

What he doesn't realize is that there is another player to this game. Perhaps if he hadn't been so preoccupied, he might have noticed that the travel plans allegedly put in place nearly a year ago haven't actually been in his calendar for long. He might have noticed his butler, surprisingly adept at computer hacking for a man his age, spending a lot of time in the Cave. He might have noticed the pushiness of said butler, who stressed the importance of keeping up appearances. He needs to make sure Bruce Wayne isn't being too interesting if he doesn't want reporters and other curious minds snooping around in his personal affairs and realizing, _hmmm, this new "Nightwing" guy has been operating out of the city Dick Grayson seems to spend an awful lot of time in, and Batman has taken a new Robin that looks to be the same age as that new boy Bruce Wayne adopted._ Technically, as Dick is still a minor, he is supposed to be living with Bruce. There have always been rumors that Bruce only adopted the orphan as a publicity stunt, so Bruce and Dick need to be careful not to pique the interests of the media.

 

And so, as painful as it promises to be for all parties, Bruce and Dick and Jason agreed to endure the trip abroad for the sake of maintaining a safe public image. Bruce isn't sure what the original purpose of the vacation was (Did his family originally come from England? Maybe Alfred wanted him to meet someone?), but he can survive dragging the boys around to London's standard tourist destinations. They just have to survive the plane, first.

 

Nights spent prowling the shadows of one of the world's most crime-ridden cities would normally have Bruce falling asleep as soon as he reached his seat, but he spends the ( _excrutiatingly long_ ) flight between Dick and Jason, having decided to sacrifice himself for the sake of providing a buffer. Bruce never flies such crowded flights, so it's just his luck that on this one, there are no visible empty seats nearby, even though it's first class. (He thinks it's awfully coincidental that his private jet is down for maintenance at this time. It would probably also go against the whole point of the trip to London being to show how normal and non-crime-fighting the family is, but by the time they land, Bruce is ready to give up on all that).

 

Jason is still pretend-sleeping, using the slightest bit of turbulence as an excuse for his legs to _somehow_ wind up across Bruce, _accidentally_ kicking Dick. Dick, for his part, has found something _else_ to grumble about under his breath, which makes little sense to Bruce: "Stupid Alfred, who does he think he is? This is none of his frickin' business!" Bruce has actually injured his neck from all the times he's had to turn and glare to quiet the boys on either side of him, and he can feel the eyes of the other passengers on him. When the plane lands, Bruce has to fight the temptation to throw Dick back into his seat and march off without them just to be alone for a peaceful second.

 

Outside the airport, Bruce hears a mumbled "asshole," and the shoving begins anew. Worn out, he pretends not to notice and nods a greeting to the nervous-looking young man who is tasked with getting them to their hotel. "A-afternoon, Mr. Wayne! Them's your boys? Everyone's accounted for? R-right, then," the chauffeur starts anxiously grabbing at bags and lugging them off to the car. Bruce stops him.

 

"They can carry their own bags," he intones dully. It's not much of a punishment for them, but he figures at the very least the boys will have a harder time fighting with their hands full.

 

The nervous chauffeur makes a sound of acceptance and, having done a head-check two more times, is satisfied that all three people are in his limo. The man's eyes flick to the rearview mirror again and again; he seems to look at them more than he looks at the road. Bruce wants to put up the privacy screen, but he doesn't particularly want to be alone with the boys again. Eventually the fidgeting man tries to make small talk. "Terrible time to travel, ain't it, Mr. Wayne? Oh, just terrible."

 

\----------

 

In a (literally) nameless pub in the shadows of London, a fight breaks out. A drunken man accuses another of stealing his wallet. Their respective "girlfriends" (paid by the hour and due back before sunrise) get in on the action, ripping at each other's hair and clothing. Before long, the bartender (and only legally existant employee) catches on to the missing wallet situation and realizes he's not going to get paid if the scum's got no money. He's nearly swallowed the whole bloody building, too! The bartender throws a fist, and before long, the entire pub is in chaos. A man in a tan trenchcoat could _probably_ have prevented the fight, but there's no reason to. People take out their primal urges by fighting or fucking in the city's underbelly all the time-- who is he to interfere with the natural order of things? 

 

"None of my business," he says, lighting a cigarette. He pockets the wallet and saunters out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce, Jason, and Dick arrive at their hotel with surprisingly little bloodshed, though Dick's cheek promises to have a bruise by tomorrow from an "accidental" suitcase to the face and Bruce feels a migraine approaching. It's slightly strange that their chauffeur comes with them all the way to the check-in counter and actually starts talking the receptionist's ear off about who they are and what time their flight landed for them. Bruce and Dick exchange glances, nonagressively for the first time in ages. The receptionist seems a little nervous, too. She hands Bruce a stack of paper and a pen. "Sir, if you could just sign in here, and-- and go on and write your, um, plans for your trip. Doesn't have to be, um, all that specific, but, just, when you're planning on leaving the hotel and who with and-- oh, um, you're free to leave whenever you want but if you could just sign out and write the time each--"

 

"What's all this about?" Bruce finally asks. A darting glance at the topmost paper shows an awful lot of legal disclaimers.

 

"W-well, we pride ourselves on providing excellent service and, um, the- the safety of our guests is always our number one concern here at--"

 

Dick waves his hand as the woman stumbles over her words. He leans on the counter, hand supporting his chin. He's activated his best investigative skill. "Oh, of course, of course. But we're just here on vacation, we promise not to break anything." He gives a charming wink and batts his eyelashes. His bright smile could blind someone. He tucks a lock of ebony hair behind an ear. Jason makes a quiet noise of disgust, and Bruce agrees.

 

The woman's nerves seem to settle a little at Dick's charm, though her blush indicates a steep rise in blood pressure, and Bruce grimaces at the look in her eyes. He hates the way people look at and talk to Dick sometimes, now. Sometimes it's the media, sometimes it's even League members. Even with his own carefully crafted playboy persona, he never noticed this level of attention for himself-- not even when he was in his early twenties! It's gotten more and more noticeable lately. _He's a child!_ Bruce mentally shouts. But, really, he's not. Not anymore. It horrifies Bruce. 

 

At any rate, Dick seems to have made the receptionist comfortable enough with that one statement to let the outsiders in on things. He has that effect; making the person he's talking to feel like the only one in the room. She watches the chauffeur go, then leans in conspiratorily. All posh-ness is dropped from her accent now that she's not reciting the hotel's script. "They don't want us talkin' about it none. Bad for business, ya see."

 

"What is?" Jason asks, bouncing on his heels to seem taller and inserting himself into the conversation with the grace that only a child has (which is to say, none). If she's taken aback, she doesn't show it. In fact, she seems to be having a moment of clarity.

 

"The disappearances," she says, like it's the most obvious thing ever.

 

"Disappearances?" Dick is in detective mode now. He exchanges glances with Bruce again, but makes a show of leaving Jason out. "What disappearances?"

 

"The ones 'round that big rock outside of town!" She looks at each of them, searching their eyes for some semblance of recognition. "Well you must have 'eard of it! It's been goin' on for ages! Bunch of kids turnin' up missing, sometimes old folks what strayed too far from bingo night? That's why we've been keeping all our guests on a schedule, so we don't lose any of 'em! Especially a guest as famous as yourself, Mr. Wayne. It'd be a right PR nightmare."

 

Bruce wants to ask more now that she's talkative, but the chauffeur has returned with more bags, and the receptionist clamps her mouth shut. "I- I wouldn't worry nuffin' about it, Mr. Wayne. It's all just precautions." She waves them off and they reluctantly begin following the man with their bags up to their rooms. If they keep asking questions, the other employee might get her in trouble-- she probably won't be willing to talk, then. There's always later. Just before the elevator doors close, Bruce spots a glimmer of concern in her eyes. "Just make sure you keep an eye on your boys, Mr. Wayne! Don't want 'em to wander off!"

 

\----------

 

Dick's phone and Bruce's laptop come out as soon as they're alone in their rooms. Jason plops exhaustedly onto one of the beds, bouncing as he does so. They're all jetlagged, but this is more important. Article after article, images from all different angles, missing persons report after missing persons report. Sure enough, there is a massive stone monolith out past the London city limits, jutting up from a normal-looking suburban street, and people are disappearing near it. A _lot_ of people. Mostly children, just like the receptionist said.

 

"How did we not hear about this?" Bruce asks no one in particular, scrambling in a suitcase for a charger. "Phenomena of this magnitude should have been in the news."

 

"It _was_ in the news," Dick says, eyes leaving the screen only long enough to turn the phone and show Bruce. "The real question is why a story this big didn't make it across the pond."

 

"Maybe it did and you just missed it?" Jason tries. The news is boring, he can't be the only one who thinks that.

 

"No," both reply in unison. That would be impossible. The Bat Cave has extensive monitoring systems for crime hotspots in Gotham, but Bruce has got major events and major cities covered, too. This is both.

 

"It's kinda weird that Alfred didn't know, since he's British," Jason thinks aloud as he rolls back and forth to either side of the bed. He's not sure why Alfred would know about something just because it happened in England, but it feels right in his mind. Alfred knows lots of stuff. And he did plan this trip, after all.

 

"Mm," Dick and Bruce acknowledge that he's spoken absentally. 

 

Bruce moves first, crossing the room in long strides and pulling back the balcony's curtain to see that the sun is beginning to set. Satisfied, he marches back to their luggage and opens his carry-on. Jason watches as he peels back a layer of fabric, revealing a digital lock interface. Bruce inputs a code, then another, and then removes a sturdy-looking plate from the suitcase. There, in a secret compartment, is the Suit. Raising an eyebrow, Jason turns to look at Dick and finds him doing precisely the same thing. He removes the Nightwing costume from the false bottom of his carry-on. Jason, the third wheel once again, scoffs. "Are you kidding me?"

 

They ignore him. Bruce and Dick may be on the outs personally right now, but as detectives they can still work together like no other. Deciding to take advantage of all the time they have, Dick starts to bounce ideas off Bruce. "First article I read said the thing's been around for decades, but the disappearances just started happening. Do we know it's all related for sure?"

 

"We can't assume, but it seems likely. If the monolith has been known about for so long, and it's not exactly out in the middle of nowhere, why isn't it on any maps? I couldn't find a single one that shows it."

Jason sighs, taking the hint, and starts to suit up. He remembered to bring his suit, too, but only because he feels safer having it near. He hadn't expected to use it. "This seems real normal," he mumbles sarcastically, "We go to London and, oh, weird, Batman and Robin are in London, too!" He purposely leaves out Nightwing, both because Dick is an asshole and because Bruce gets in a bad mood when his alter ego is mentioned. 

 

Dick takes the bait and turns to mouth off to him, but finds himself laughing, and not in a good-humored way. "Was that just packed in your luggage? Like, just out in the open for anyone who looks in to see?" 

 

"Well, next time I guess I'll just SHOVE IT UP MY ASS INSTEAD!" 

 

Dick stomps toward Jason and Jason swings a fist at Dick's chin. Dick dodges and catches Jason's arm. Jason grabs at Dick's hair, yanking him downward. "HEY," Bruce scolds through clenched teeth. The boys reluctantly release one another, Jason pushing Dick as far away as his arms can reach. "Knock it off," Bruce growls. "I expect better from you, _especially_ you." He turns to face Dick.

 

"Oh, yeah, every problem is _my_ fault! If you can't control it, then it's wrong! God forbid anyone say or do something for themselves without your permission!"

 

Bruce is incensed. "You want to be trusted with things, you have to show you can be trusted. How you expect to be treated like an adult when you throw tantrums like a kid is beyond me."

 

"You're one to talk!" Dick fires back, "You wouldn't even be speaking to me if you didn't have to!"

 

"Guys--" Jason starts.

 

"I _don't_ have to speak to you! But you are my ward, legally, and you have to follow the rules I set. I give orders and you follow them, it's as simple as that."

 

"You're supposed to be my friend, not my boss!"

 

"I'm not your friend, _Richard_ , I am your caretaker," Bruce spits back. He leaves himself no time to regret his words and continues, "I never should have let you have the team. You're not ready for the responsibility. You never will be."

 

"Seriously, guys, I--" Jason's voice is covered by the argument once again.

 

"If you have so little faith in me, why did you even adopt me?!" Dick spits, fire in his words.

 

"HEY!" Jason shouts. Bruce and Dick both whip their heads around, fully prepared to tear him a new one just for interrupting. But Jason has Bruce's computer, and is typing away incessantly, eyes darting around the screen as he speed-reads. "You can bitch at each other later. I got somethin' here."

 

"You'd never let _me_ talk like that," Dick grumbles, but Bruce shushes him. Their detective instincts have quelled the turmoil for now.

 

"Everything I can find about the monolith says it's been there for a long time, but nothing about how it got there," Jason spins the laptop around and points to specific locations on the screen. "Look," he says, indicating the top or bottom of several articles as he switches tabs, "none of these articles, or news clips, or pictures, or ANYTHING were posted before yesterday. They all _say_ this thing's been here all this time. Doesn't look like it to me," Jason snaps the laptop shut.

 

"Could explain why no one's heard of it outside the immediate area," Bruce muses, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. "I've been thinking along the lines of a government cover-up, but if there's something altering the memories of the people who live here--"

 

"None of the missing persons cases were entered into any databases before yesterday, either," Dick says, scrolling rapidly on his phone. "How did no one notice this? Nobody thought it was strange that there was such a massive upload to all these sites at once? And even if this all really started yesterday, how has word not gotten out? News travels fast, especially on the internet."

 

"Do you know a lot of people who sit around staring at missing persons websites all day?" Jason challenges. Dick and Bruce look at one another meaningfully. "Er, nevermind. You guys are freaks. But if something's messing with people's memories of when stuff happened, why couldn't it mess with their perception of other things, too? Someone might have typed up a whole article about this thing and never realized they did it. Maybe it has a way to stop people from communicating what's going on to the outside."

 

"But you can't fool a _computer's_ brain!" Dick exclaims with dawning realization. "We have to check it out."

 

Bruce wants to enjoy this rare scene of the boys communicating with words instead of dirty looks and kicks to the face, but he can't. Something isn't right here, even more than usual. He is silent as the receptionist's words echo in his head. _"Keep an eye on your boys, Mr. Wayne!"_ Pulling on the cowl, he nods curtly. 

 

"Stay close."


	3. Chapter 3

It turns out it's not hard to find a massive towering stone wedged deep into the ground in the middle of a suburb that's part of a major city, but Batman, Nightwing, and Robin take their time getting there. Stealth is key in Gotham; here, in London, it is priority number one. They can't afford to risk someone noticing them and making the connection between the location of their civilian identities and that of their alter egos. The trio keeps silent and clings to the shadows. This is probably closer to what a family outing would be for them than some vacation, anyway-- if they could all stand each other long enough to have a real one, that is. It's a shame Alfred didn't come.

 

The monolith is around 50 meters tall, 20 wide at the base. It seems to hold itself up against gravity; the top looks to be far wider than the bottom, so it seems it should topple. Perhaps it extends farther underground than they had assumed. The location is a residential area that should be fairly populated, even now that night has come, but no one is in sight. The sun has not been down for long, and yet not a single light is on in any building. The street lights are dead, too. Not even the wind makes a sound. In fact, there doesn't seem to _be_ any wind. There is a smell, a combination of tobacco and alcohol, amplified without wind to dissipate it. There are no stars in the sky.

 

Having inspected the scene and deeming it not immediately threatening, Batman steps out into the open, followed by his two proteges. As Nightwing and Robin take a closer look at the perimeter, Batman pulls up a scanner in his cowl. At a loss for much else to investigate, he decides to look into the smell. Diagrams showing the compounds appear, and he can pinpoint half of the smell down to the manufacturer by the chemical makeup. Cigarettes, a brand called "Silk Cuts," which is not terribly helpful as he can see no one around but Dick, who certainly doesn't smoke. Bruce would kill him. Maybe if he looks into the meager traces of alcohol he can--

 

Wait.

 

_Where's Jason?_

 

"Robin," he calls calmly, turning to look around for his youngest. Dick spins around out of reflex, but tries to play it off like he's looking for Jason, too. The smell of cigarettes overpowers that of the alcohol and Bruce moves to follow it. Dick runs to the source first, before Bruce can order him to stay at his side, and he disappears around the side of the monolith. Bruce tears after him and, thankfully, the teenager is still there when he reaches the other side. "Do you have any idea how stupid--" 

 

"B, look at this," Dick says, staring in complete fascination at what appears to be nothing but the smooth surface of the stone. He reaches out to touch it. "I mean, really look."

 

Bruce grabs Dick's shoulder and pulls him away, then steps closer himself. _He's right._ There is something there, but... not. When he looks at the spot Dick found, the spot where the cowl detects the traces of cigarette smoke is greatest, there is nothing. But at the same time... it's like there _is_ something there. It's almost holographic. When he stares at the stone dead-on, it looks normal; but if he moves his head side to side, he can just about make out... some sort of crevace? Looking back at Dick (half to see what he thinks and half to make sure he's still there), he nods and proceeds to touch the monolith. 

 

He can still see the overlay of the rock, but his gloved hand extends further, and he can see it a little, too. There's definitely a crevace here, and a significant one, at that. He starts to feel around the edges, trying to get an idea of the size and shape of the hole, but Dick rushes past him and climbs in. Before he knows what he's doing, Bruce is inside, grabbing Dick's elbow and scolding him. "You're being reckless, what if--"

 

"I saw him," Dick exclaims, pointing to the far wall of the chamber, "I saw Robin! We have to get to him before he gets himself hurt." Bruce takes a look around. The room, if it can be called that, appears to be much larger than it even appeared from the outside. There is no obvious light source, but somehow the chamber is just light enough for them to see each other's face. More trickery.

 

"I don't see anything," Bruce says carefully, squinting as he approaches the area. He doesn't let go of Dick's arm, in case their perception is being interfered with on another level and Dick is starting to see things that aren't there. His nerves already seem on edge. But, no, when Bruce reaches the other wall, there is another nigh-imperceptible gap. Dick is starting to look a little smug, but Bruce is more concerned with why he's less able to see through the nonsense than Dick. He tries to reason it out. Bruce's cowl is more technologically advanced than Dick's mask. This is by design. Bruce always wanted to make sure Dick had to rely on him when he was Robin for things like heat sensors so that he had motivation not to run off on his own. Now that Dick is Nightwing, he's using an even simpler mask that he's put together himself (Bruce isn't sure of all its capabilities yet, but as Dick has less experience in making tech, it seems logical to assume his mask isn't as advanced as Bruce's cowl). Bruce isn't willing to remove his cowl to find out if seeing with his eyes would be better. _So much for not being able to fool a computer._ Jason has been wearing Dick's original mask, which Bruce is glad has few advancements, because Jason is far more impulsive than Dick was at that age, and is more prone to wandering off as-is. Case in point...

 

\----------

 

One second John Constantine is pulling out his lighter to get a better look at his surroundings, the next, he's face-first on the ground with some brat's knees in his back. Robin grabs him by the hair and yanks his head up. "You better have a good reason for skulking around a crime scene looking like a flasher," he threatens.

 

Constantine struggles, but not much. "What's this, then?" he asks, bewildered. "Batmum's loaded up the minivan and brought the kiddos camping? On a different continent, no less!"

 

_"Talk,"_ the boy demands, probably thinking he sounds intimidating like his mentor. Constantine snorts at the thought. He's only met Batman once before, and he's only tangently (and unwillingly) affliated with the League, but he's heard all about Bat-mum's after-school-special parenting woes. The cape-wearers may think they're sly, but they tell more than they should and Constantine, well, he knows how to find out what he needs to know. Or, you know, what's _funny_ to know.

"Relax, you rude little git. We're on the same side."

Robin growls at him and hesitates, then lets his head drop back to the hard ground and climbs off the man. "You're investigating the disappearances, too?"

Constantine nods, staggering to his feet. "John Constantine. You've probably never heard of me. Shame it couldn't stay that way." He reaches into his coat, then shakes his head, changing his mind. "Not giving my card to a bloody _child_ ," he grumbles.

 

"I _have,_ actually," Robin continues, still trying to appear intimidating even though he probably doesn't reach Constantine's shoulder (though, actually, he might, Constantine muses. He knows he tends to overestimate himself-- ability-wise and height-wise, specifically, among the sizes of... other parts). "You got anything yet?"

 

Constantine's eyebrows raise. "You bat-brats get right to the point, don't you?" He doesn't actually feel obligated to explain his findings to a kid, but it does sometimes help to think aloud to work through something, and maybe the kid will tell Bats how helpful and nice he was. Maybe it'll persuade him to forget about this whole "Justice League Dark" shit. "There's some kind of glamour at work here,"

 

"Glamour?" 

 

"It's something what makes things look different than they are. Stop interrupting. Anyway, I'm guessing you found this thing same as I did, yeah?"

 

Robin folds his arms. "There's no record of this thing existing before yesterday, but everyone thinks it did."

 

"Yup, gold star for you, birdboy. You probably ain't been affected yet because you entered London after the glamour was made, and I'm guessin' you've never been here, so there's barely any perception to change in the first place. It's easier to fool someone when you know how they think. Sometimes it's easier to screw with perceptions of the history and geography of a place you already have a map of in your head. But give it some time, it'll have your brain thinking what it wants you to think, too."

 

That doesn't make sense. And anyway, Dick's probably been to London before. He's been everywhere. He's pretty sure Bruce has been here before, too. ...When did Jason get separated from them, again? "Seems like it would work the other way around," Jason argues, feeling uneasy.

 

"Well, it _don't_."

 

"And why were _you_ left out of the glamour crap?"

 

Constantine has more or less reached the end of what little patience he has with Batman's brat, so he shrugs and gives him the quick version. "I couldn't come to London or I'd die."

 

"But you're here now?"

 

"Figured it out, didn't I? What's with the third degree? I'm not the one nabbing everyone and their grandads, am I?"

 

Wisely, Jason doesn't answer. "I've skimmed through your file. You're some kind of occult specialist, right? You got any ideas on who or what's behind this?"

 

"Could be a lot of things, really. Sometimes you get ethereal beings that feed on a mortal's lifespan or whatever and they just set up shop wherever and whenever they please. Sometimes you just get a monster-rock that's hungry for people," he pauses. "Probably the first one, though. I reckon they'll be 'round to eat us any time now."

 

"Great," Robin replies flatly. 

 

"Hang on, my _file?_ What file?"


	4. Chapter 4

Jason isn't in the next chamber, or the one after that for that matter. It's getting harder and harder to find the supernaturally camoflauged passageways the deeper into the monolith Bruce and Dick go. They're also getting smaller, and Bruce is worried that soon Dick will disappear through one he can't follow through. He takes a breath to clear his head, forcing himself to stay on topic. _We're getting close,_ Bruce thinks, _but close to what?_ Dick now has to feel along the walls of the chamber instead of just looking. 

 

"There's a hole here," Dick tells him, but he looks uncertain. 

 

"That's where we just came from."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

And on and on it goes. With each room, not only does it become harder to find the exit, but it gets harder to see the entrance. If they don't find Jason and get out soon, they may not be able to. Is this what became of the missing? The walls, though rugged with the texture of rock, are rounded. It's entirely too easy to forget which way they're facing. It's that way by design, it has to be. Some kind of trap that forces you to wander a maze; but it isn't a maze, it's a series of rooms connected in a simple chain, like the compartments of a train. It's the mind that makes it a maze.

 

"We need to stop and think."

 

Dick sighs, "I don't really want to spend any more time here than we have to." He leans against a wall and slides down anyway, stretching his legs out before him. Bruce stays standing. He wonders if Dick is at all worried about Jason's safety. He's never been as callous as Bruce. Even when Bruce cares, deeply, it's never been easy for him to show it. Dick, on the other hand, seems to wear his heart on his sleeve. No, perhaps it's not that simple. _Jason_ is the one who shouts and throws things when he's angry; Dick always expresses something, but it isn't always what he truly feels. He's like Bruce in that way.

 

"It's... I don't hate him, you know?" Dick whispers, a hand running through his hair. "I just dont know how to..." He trails off, but Bruce understands. 

 

"I know."

 

Bruce looks at his eldest ward, taking in the sight of the exhausted teenage vigilante. His dark hair is messy, but in a way that frames his face nicely. His lanky body is starting to show some muscle, and his voice is beginning to sound more like a man's and less like a boy's. He's had another growth spurt recently, but thankfully Alfred has altered his new suit since. Bruce recalls the many times he's seen Dick's ankles poking out from his leggings when they had returned to the cave and the boy had flung off his boots. He and Alfred would share a knowing laugh, and Alfred would make the necessary alterations when Dick went to bed. It almost brings a smile to Bruce's face, thinking about it. Almost.

 

Dick reminds him so much of himself as a young man, but he's so much better. He's smart as a whip and an incredible detective. He's a better leader, and more personable than Bruce, too. He's handsome and athletic with a good head on his shoulders-- he could have the world wrapped around his finger if he wanted, someday. Bruce thinks he should feel jealous. Instead he feels something else.

 

Pride?

 

He's drawn from his thoughts when he notices Dick is speaking again. "This can't be all there is," he posits, back in detective-mode. "If the missing people just wandered around until they died of thirst or exposure, we would have seen their-" he grimaces, then continues. "Their _remains_. We've been searching long enough."

 

That confuses Bruce. "We've been here less than an hour, we probably haven't made it as far as the victims yet."

 

Dick stands up suddenly. "What are you talking about? We've been walking around for _hours_. Unless..."

 

Bruce nods grimly. "It's starting to affect our perception of time."

 

Dick starts feeling the walls in earnest for a quick way onward. "But how long have we actually been here? How long has it been since Robin--"

 

_There it is,_ Bruce thinks. Dick is concerned for Jason after all, which deep down doesn't really suprise Bruce. Dick cares about everyone, even if it's just on the level that he cares for any civilian in danger, but he seems particularly stressed now. It may be another effect of whatever is altering their minds, but if it really feels to Dick like they've been searching for Jason for _hours_... Bruce allows himself little time to consider this, however; he's worried too, even if he's never really learned how to show it. The longer they're here, the greater the likelihood they won't be leaving with Jason. Or at all.

 

\----------

 

"Batman's got files on _everybody_ ," Robin says smugly. Constantine marches off ahead and through another passageway. He's pretty sure he already knows what Batman thinks of him, so he's not sure why he's surprised. "Don't take it so personally."

 

Constantine whirs around, trenchcoat flailing in the stale air. "My life is none of your bloody business, and you can tell run and tell _daddy_ that yourself," he growls. The kid doesn't know what he's talking about. He can't. No one can. Snobby little brats and cape-wearing, holier-than-thou fucks-- none of them know what it's like to be purely _hated,_ by others and oneself, not in the way John Constantine does. They don't know what it's like to be blamed for things they tried so, so hard to stop. They don't know how it feels to know they could have stopped deaths, but didn't. They don't know. They can't. 

 

And yet, an invisible shadow hangs in the air above the two. It feels familiar. Constantine marches on, but it follows.

 

The magician's subconscious whispers. _This child isn't **them**_.

 

He hears the echoing footsteps of steel-toed boots behind him as the boy follows. "... My dad was a prick, too," Jason offers, shrugging wordlessly as he reaches the man. They refuse to meet each other's gaze. There is no apology in his words, no desire to appease him-- the boy offers only camaraderie. It is what it is.

 

John reaches into his coat for a cigarette to steady his nerves, but finds the pack missing. "Here," a soft voice says next to him. Robin stands beside him, the cigarette pack in one hand and Constantine's lighter in another. He hands him the pack of Silk Cuts, then places one between his own lips. He lights his own, then returns the lighter to its owner. John stares at the boy. He remembers bruises and alcohol and blood and scars and needles and shouting. A chill bolts through his spine. The kid looks nothing like him and yet John's mind conjures the image of a mirror. He has no need to look into it; his heart can feel the reflection on the other side. Silently, he turns his gaze to the ceiling. He gets the feeling this kid knows what he's talking about in a way few others have. He hopes it's just a feeling. _Don't turn into me, kid,_ he thinks silently, mournfully. He exhales. The boy does, too. The smoke lingers over them, weighing their souls down. From which cigarette has it come?

 

\----------

 

_With the PREY separated, it will be easier to consume them. Yes, yes, even though the broken bond between the FATHER and FIRST SON is mending, the SECOND SON and the MAGICIAN are still strangers. They have no BOND to protect them, no BOND with each other to solidify one another's existence. They may find they are alike, but they do not truly know one another, no, and so they will be easy to TAKE._

 

_And TAKE they shall._

 

_But who to consume first? Well, the answer is obvious. The MAGICIAN is older, though not even an infant compared to THEM. His soul is worn and torn, and he is only headed in one direction. The SECOND is young and healthy and has so many choices left to make-- his life will be the greatest to TAKE. He must have so long, he must have so many choices! THEY will be able to feed on his many years and potentials for ages to come._

 

_IT'S TIME._

 

\----------

 

Jason drops suddenly to the ground, Constantine stumbles back as the wall of rock behind him seems to snake invisible arms around him and pulls.

 

The screeching begins.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to give a shout out to [john-constantines-spells.tumblr.com.](https://john-constantines-spells.tumblr.com/post/108550114618/persian-binding-curse-spell-hellblazer-281) I've never spoken to you or anything, but your blog is super useful for finding something magic-y for the ol' Laughing Magician to say/do when Google Translate can't figure out how to Latin. Thanks for being such a great reference!

Younger ears can hear higher frequencies than those of adults. Bruce knows this, but his mind jumps to any number of other things as Dick suddenly clutches at his ears and folds to the floor. He does not know that the sound is not one meant to be audible to mortals, or that his son's more open mind and heart are the real reason he can perceive what Bruce cannot. For once, the detective is not pondering the _why_ or the _how_. His child is in pain and he panics.

"What is it?! What's wrong?!"

 

The 15-year-old can only hiss in pain and grind his teeth together. The piercing, shrieking, wail! It's deafening, why can't Bruce hear it?! He falls to his knees, and folds to press his forehead to the cool ground. It's an animalistic impulse, an instinct, as his body and mind try whatever they can to escape from this horrid, ethereal sound shooting through his eardrums. Bruce is grabbing his shoulders and pulling him upright, trying to help him. Dick knows he's saying something, but he can't make it out. He can barely _see_ for the pain streaking across his temples, to know that Bruce's lips are moving in the first place.

 

Just as abruptly, it ends. 

 

The shrieking cuts out and Dick falls forward, body exhausted from tensing muscles he didn't even know existed. Bruce catches him by the upper arms as he struggles to catch his breath. An echo touches his mind, and Dick's hands claw at his ears in fear of an aftershock-- but, instead of the banshee-like wail, he feels rather than hears a pained gasp for fleeting breath. It isn't his own.

 

Like Bruce, he is unfamiliar with the sound's origins in the supernatural. He doesn't know that the desperate gasp he hears in his mind belongs to a voice being dragged to a side of existence it shouldn't be on. As cold sweat drips down his face, he can only say the first thing that comes to his mind. It is triggered by a subconscious familiarity with the voice, or some sort of spiritual connection, or it is nothing more than a lucky guess-- it doesn't matter-- but he is compelled to spit the word out so he doesn't implode.

 

"Jason," he cries out, "Jason!" 

 

\----------

 

This isn't what Constantine expected-- mostly because he's learned ( _had_ to learn, more like) that he can't expect anything to happen any certain way. That isn't the way life throws things at him. Luckily, he's also learned to think on his feet.

 

He's able to yank himself away from the wall's invisible tendrils, and, if he focuses, he can almost see... something. It's there, as the boy is rolling around on the ground, clutching at his ears and screaming inaudibly in pure agony. A whisp of white or black or gray, and he can only see it's edges. The cavern, though not lit by any normal means, is somehow light enough to see Jason's pale face. In the boy's tortured clawing, he rips half of his mask off, revealing a blue iris ever-shrinking as it is consumed by the pupil. In this small, black void, Constantine spots the reflection of a creature no man was ever meant to see.

 

But, as countless men and women and demons and angels keep telling him, John Constantine hardly counts as a _man_.

 

"Got you now, you bloody prick," he mumbles, spitting out the cigarette he's bitten in half in the comotion. A tiny part of him wishes he could think of more impressive things to say in the heat of the moment. Whatever. He needs something to write with, but there's nothing here, nothing but him and the kid, and---

 

He spots the glint of metal in the nonsensical light of the seemingly entryless chamber. Jason's agonized fit has knocked loose a batarang from his utility belt. Constantine makes a break for it. Someone from the League, someone with a bloody cape or spandex would probably do a flip or teleport or something, but John is no hero. He kicks up dirt as he awkwardly snatches at the weapon, tripping over the teen's legs and barely catching himself with his arms as he falls. He twists himself around and kicks further away; he needs to keep his distance from both the creature and its victim if this is going to work.

 

Constantine makes a test-scratch of the rock floor, and the batarang _does_ scrape a mark into it. But, he decides, it's not worth the risk. For all he knows, this being (or beings) _is_ the rock, so using it as part of his trap might be disastrous. Which is fine. He has another idea.

 

Swearing, the Magician uses the glorified bat-shuriken to cut open his palm. Blood isn't an ideal substance to use for this kind of thing, either. It's too easy to accidentally damn your soul to Hell or something, but, well, he's already done that loads of times. No use worrying about it now. He presses the blade deeper until he's got a fair amount of blood spouting up, and he begins a cautious pace around the kid and the being. He needs to draw a circle. Another shriek errupts from the being, and Constantine can hear it audibly now. The sound pierces his ears and knocks him off balance, but he fights to stay upright, one hand clutched over an ear and the other clenched tight, drawing more blood forth. 

 

\----------

 

Dick staggers anxiously through passages that Bruce can't even see. Bruce would lose him if it wasn't for the hand he's keeping wrapped tight around Dick's bicep, half to keep track of him and half to keep him standing. Neither of them speaks. They don't have to. In a twisted way, it reminds Bruce of their missions, back when things were still good. Bruce has always been the distant one, but times like this, when circumstance forces him to close that distance emotionally and physically, he realizes that Dick is his own person now. He always has been, really, and that isn't bad. Bruce thinks, always, that he doesn't want Dick to grow up and become him. And he won't. He'll be better, Bruce knows it.

 

Concern is fine (and expected of a father, anyway), but he doesn't need to control Dick's life. He's his own man now, even if he's just 15, and Bruce is proud of him. So, so _proud_. It's just hard for him to strike a balance between being neglectful and being overbearing. He's never been good at showing how he feels. He hopes Dick will forgive him this, someday. He hopes Dick will understand.

 

(He does).

 

For now, there are moments like this. Clarity. Shared missions, yes, but more than that-- _Jason_ is in danger. And despite all evidence to the contrary, they _both_ know he's family. Maybe their world of two, fractured by fighting, is broken for a reason. Maybe it has to break to reform with a place for Jason, too.

"This way," Dick exclaims breathlessly, though he does not know what guides him. 

\----------

 

Constantine finishes his containment circle with a little flourish, casting the last droplets of his own blood to the ground with an agressive flick of the hand. The outer lines connect, forming a barrier around the ancient symbols designed to reveal and trap. He's written "FUCK OFF" in it, as well, just for good measure. Extending his hands, palms facing outward at the creature (creatures?) and nearly life-drained boy and beings to speak the words.

_"Atom deugdon oni--"_

 

The pain in his ears interrupts him. It's not loud this time, but the nature of the voice's origins agonizes him just as badly. This time, though, he can make out everything. He hears words, spoken in a long-gone or maybe never truly spoken language, but when they echo in his mind's eye, he can understand them perfectly.

_Something is wrong," they gasp in unison, outline flickering in distress. "This CHILD has not decades and potentials, it barely has any TIME! And yet... and yet, there is MORE! How can there be an END and yet MORE? How?! It is as though the CHILD has two BEGINNINGS and two ENDS! Im-impossible!"_

 

Intrigued though he may be, Constantine fights against his curiosity. He wipes at the hot blood now dripping from his nose, and continues the spell: _"--on ratin biuatom, Constantine ieuru!"_

 

For a second, as a wind kicks up from nowhere and the magic begins to take hold, the beings do not notice. Whatever it is they have discovered about Jason's lifespan, it is so strange that they do not immediately realize they are doomed. _"This LIFE,"_ they speak as one, _"this TIME! It is so disturbed, so unnatural! To interfere with it, to feast upon it, it may cause the unravelling of us! The unravelling of TIME!"_

 

"Serves you right, you prats," Constantine mutters, falling back in exhaustion against the wall. He slides down it, resisting the urge to close his eyes and rest, if just for a moment. "You're so bloody hungry? You're going to be eatin' your own damn lifeforce 'til there's nothing left." He's trapped them, like they trapped their victims. 

 

For all eternity, they will be locked away in a second of time. They will have no unspent time to consume but their own. And it _is_ finite. Everything is, in the end.

 

The echoes of the supernatural voices fade into the air and Constantine makes out their final words, for once not a condemnation of the magician himself.

 

_"The CHILD would hardly feed US anyway. It has barely two mortal years left in it."_ Just like that, there is nothing left but the man, the boy, and the wind.

 

Robin's visible eye is open, probably has been this whole time, but it is unseeing. His dilated pupil nearly covers his iris, itself the innocent blue of a childhood that he has only begun to have (and that Constantine was denied completely). Suddenly, his body trembles and he gasps, coughing a blood-like substance blacker than anything natural. _Death,_ Constantine's mind supplies, _or the beginnings of it_.

 

Constantine tries to light a cigarette, but his hands don't have the dexerity to work the lighter, so he sits with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. "Oi, bat-boy," he calls, hesitantly with the words of the life-consuming beings in his head, "you dead or what?"

 

In reply, he recieves a delirious-sounding groan. The teen's arm weakly moves to lay across his eyes, either trying in vain to protect a secret identity Constantine couldn't give less of a shit about or trying to hide from the hardly-existant light in the chamber. Finally, he speaks. "I'm, like... not even sure?"

 

The magician snorts in amusement and relief. "Well, do figure it out, yeah? Need to know if Batman's gonna kill me so I can decide what I want on me tombstone."

 

Robin must be able to see at least a little, even under his arm, because he apparently takes note of John's bleeding nose. "You... hurt?" he struggles.

 

"Always," he says, barking out a laugh. Trust one of the _heroes_ to care about a sad sack like him whilst lying half-dead on the ground.

 

A rumbling begins, with origins unknown to all but one of the monolith's trespassers. Not so far away, Batman grabs his oldest boy and shields him from falling rocks. "Ah, shit," Constantine sighs, feeling midly annoyed rather than alarmed, "Guess this thing is part of those guys, after all. Looks like when I trapped them, I cut off the ties binding this place to our reality." He forces himself to his feet, swaying at the effort (and most definitely not from the booze still in his system), and carefully walks, arm extended to feel the wall, to Jason. Like the beings, the light is starting to fade, and it's getting dimmer, though it isn't perfect darkness like it should be in a natural cave. "Up and at 'em," he says, lightly kicking at the teen's legs, "We need to get out of here while 'here' still exists."

 

"...'kay," Jason mumbles without moving, "I'm just gonna... just gonna lay down here for a while, though."

 

"Not really an opt--"

 

"ROBIN!" A voice barks. Even with the (fading) light, the massive shadow of a man that enters the chamber now is difficult to see. Batman's growling voice makes enough of an introduction for him, anyway. The hairs on the back of Constantine's neck stand up. The younger man at his side, however, speaks more softly.

 

"Are you alright?" Nightwing asks the youngest vigilante. He crouches at his brother's side and pulls him up with an arm around his shoulders. 

 

"Fan-fucking-tastic," the boy groans, finally beginning to get his bearings. He's still pale, but he's regained some color in his face. Batman crosses the tiny room (is it getting smaller?) like a breeze of black wind, and stands before the boys. He doesn't kneel or bend, just stands stoically, only offerring a steadying grasp of Jason's shoulders when Dick manages to get him to his feet. Satisfied that the two will survive to make it to relative safety, where he can better analyze them for injuries, Bruce turns to burn a hole into the Magician with a glare.

 

Constantine gets the sneaking suspicion that Batman thinks all this is his fault which pisses him off because, for once, it isn't. He's about to indignantly defend himself, but he's interrupted by the rumbling of the rock around them. _Right, monolith collapsing,_ he remembers. 

 

"We need to get out of here."

 

Dick helps Jason forward, Bruce close behind. Jason is his primary concern, but Dick still doesn't seem completely stable himself, so he intends to stay as close as possible. A mechanical clicking noise catches his attention and Bruce whips around to see John Constantine standing still, looking quite pleased to have finally managed to light a cigarette. Unbelievable.

 

_"Constantine,"_ he growls lowly, teeth clenched. He grabs the man's arm and practically throws him through the crevace after the boys. All those rooms passed through on their way in, and yet this first or second passage leads them out into the cool night air. A few meters away, Dick and Jason are exhaustedly leaning against a boulder, probably one that's fallen from the almost-completely destroyed monolith. Bruce is just about to tell them they need to move farther away in case more fall, but he looks up. The sky is empty and clear. It's just as well-- Jason looks on the brink of collapse himself. A light breeze passes by.

 

Constantine stumbles to a stop, barely managing not to fall as he staggers to get his footing. "Oi! I'm not one of your bloody kids you can just--"

 

Batman cuts him off with a look. His eyes are hidden behind the cowl, but somehow Constantine gets the message. For once in his life, he shuts up. There's probably a parade honoring the moment in some hellish dimension, somewhere.

 

There is still a mystery to be solved, and Bruce has a lot of questions (and reprimands) for Jason, but his first concern is how he's going to get them all back to the hotel. They're still in costume, after all, but the boys are in no condition to be swinging around an unfamiliar setting. As he walks towards his sons, Bruce issues a command over his shoulder. "Send your report in by daybreak. You know the email."

 

Constantine scoffs. Like that's going to happen. The less involved the League gets, the better. Looks like Batman's not going to drop it after all. 

 

Bruce pays him no mind. "Can you walk?" he asks Jason. 

 

"Yeah," Jason replies, though he seems uncertain.

 

"I've got him," Dick says, pulling Jason's arm around his own shoulders and wrapping his own arm around the younger teen's waist. Jason seems confused. Dick smiles and shakes his head. "We can bitch at each other tomorrow, Jay. Bruce has enough to worry about right now." As always, it helps to pretend it's about someone else.

 

"U-um. Okay." Jason looks uncomfortable, but willing to accept the help. For a fraction of a second, the stars he once had in his eyes as he watched the acrobats perform return. He looks away, embarassed.

 

If Bruce is shocked by his eldest's attitude, he doesn't show it. He frowns like he always does, tense and serious, but with the return of the night air also comes the return of normalcy. A new definition of normal. There are questions, so many questions, but the detective thinks, on this one occasion, they can wait until morning. 

 

John Constantine watches them go, trenchcoat whipping up in the wind. The words he was never supposed to hear echo in his head as he looks at the smallest figure, the one that reminds him so much of himself, or who he could have been if even one tiny thing had ever gone right in his life. Such potential to do great things. 

 

_"...barely two mortal years left..."_ It's like the wind itself whispers the words to him. 

 

"Batman," he calls suddenly, his next words ready to leap out of his mouth. John has to warn him. The Dark Knight turns.

 

The beings' words, spoken in unison pass through his ears again. _"To interfere with it... may cause the unravelling of TIME!"_

 

The words catch in Constantine's throat and he stares past Batman, past the boy with the soon-to-end life, past everything. The Magician takes a shaky breath and turns away. "Nevermind," he says, softly, painfully. He'll disconnect himself like he always does, to survive. "Nevermind."

 

He knows Bruce and his sons are leaving now, unaware. Constantine can't bring himself to look back. He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. 

 

It's none of his business, anyway.


End file.
